


a history, illustrated

by spaceedaisy



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, So so much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21876970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceedaisy/pseuds/spaceedaisy
Summary: four occasions that logan supposed roman merely recalled, that he himself couldn’t forget (and the one time they remembered, together).The four occasions Roman and Logan fall in love on their own; and the one time they fall together.
Relationships: Logince, Roman/Logan
Comments: 7
Kudos: 46
Collections: Sanders Sides Secret Santa 2019





	a history, illustrated

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crazyfangirls-stuff on tumblr!!](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=crazyfangirls-stuff+on+tumblr%21%21).



> happy holidays y'all !! hope u enjoy reading about these cutie pi(e)s <3

_ one: pi(e) day _

Logan set the pie down primly on the table as he entered the classroom—simple apple, courtesy of Jewel Osco. His father, Virgil, had panicked—as was to be expected—at the prospect of baking his son’s ‘Extremely Important’ Pi Day Pie (his words, not Logan’s); so store-bought it was. Logan was indifferent to arguments in favor of homemade goods over all else—he found something comforting in the implied cleanliness and near clinical precision within his own dessert, compared to the burnt-edged and lopsided treats settled elsewhere on the table.

That was, at least, until Roman sidled up behind him, little more than a smug, toothy grin peeking out from behind the towering Oreo pie in his hands. His wrists trembled beneath the weight of the glass pan, eyes sparkling with pride. Logan observed as Roman set the pie down directly next to his own with a soft  _ clunk _ , enthusiastically followed by a handwritten notecard (presumably of the ingredients within the good). Blinking, Logan attempted to read the brightly colored gel pen, but was only able to make out  _ ‘Milk’ _ and  _ ‘Love’ _ from the scramble of surrounding hearts and emoticons on the label before Roman whipped around with a pompous air.

“Mine’s better,” he shrugged simply, pushing down a grin. He paused only for dramatic effect, before turning and walking to his desk. Logan was left sputtering, anchored only by his hands clutched to the straps of his backpack.  _ Who did Roman think he was?  _ Logan stormed to his seat—scowling, mind you—before even daring to look Roman’s way. He tried to draw his attention to the board, to the agenda for the day, but the thought alone of his nemesis’ stuck-up smirk and snobby attitude made him twitch in his chair. As subtle as a fifth-grader could, Logan attempted to side-eye his scourge without drawing attention to himself—but when he glanced Roman’s way, he was already staring back at him. Logan blinked, to remove any illusion or glare from his sight. 

Roman had turned away, eyes towards the window, and the blue sky beyond; but a small smile still sat on his face.  _ What?  _

Logan flushed, wishing desperately to be anywhere else, if only so he could scream to his heart’s content without anyone witnessing his paralyzing quarter-life crisis. (Logically, Logan knew his lifespan was sure to be closer to the average 78.7 years for a U.S. male, but at ten he couldn’t for the life of him figure out a replacement for ‘quarter’ that would indicate an eighth as it should have—ergo, his quarter life crisis clocked him as living to forty, which was fine by Logan—as long as it meant he had 38 fewer years to suffer at the whim of  _ feelings. _ )

Stupid, stupid boys.

(Logan didn’t know whether he was referring to Roman or himself.)

\---

_ two: school lunch  _

Roman groaned as he let his lunchbox fall to the lunch table with a sharp  _ thunk _ . Logan’s eyes drifted calmly up from his book to his...friend. It was unfamiliar, to say the least, to refer to Roman in such a way—but he supposed it was deserved nonetheless. 

That didn’t mean his dramatics got him any further than they ever had before.

Logan returned to his novel, hiding the grin from his face. Roman huffed, before collapsing onto the table with his arms across the opened pages. Logan was minimally bothered, until Roman snagged the book from under him, holding it triumphantly above his head. 

“Hey!”

“What could be more important than me, Specs?” Roman retorted, flicking through the pages to the summary on the inner cover.

“It’s  _ homework _ . It needs to be done. It having to be completed has no bearing on your importance to me, Ro.”

“Awww, you  _ do _ care, Lo!”

“Of course I do.” Logan quirked an eyebrow up towards Roman. They were friends, and friends cared about each other—why would this surprise Roman? He knew they weren’t on great terms in the past, but they had made up—or so Logan had thought—but what if he had misread the situation, and projected  _ whatever _ he was feeling onto the other boy, and Roman didn’t actually want him around at all, and—

“Hey,” Roman said, laying his hand on Logan’s wrist, “Did I say something?” 

“Huh? Oh! No, no, you're fine. Sorry for worrying you, Roman.” He pulled his arm towards his chest, twisting his palm over where Roman’s hand just was. A beat of silence—long enough to be unusual for the middle schoolers—passed.

“I care about you, too,” Roman confessed, a nearly-whispered secret between the two of them in the otherwise clamorous cafeteria. Logan’s face burned, but he forced his way through the tension with a playful grin.

“Sap,” Logan accused, with a gentle kick to Roman’s leg beneath the lunch table. Roman gasped, mock offense (figuratively) dripping from his hand splayed open in front of his mouth. With a smile on his face, Logan listened distantly to Roman’s rant regarding his betrayal, only able to pick out ‘ _ how dare you,’ _ and  _ ‘to think I was opening up to my previous adversary!’  _ from the buzzing in his brain. Logan knew he had ruined the moment, and possibly lost his chance (at what, he didn’t quite know—but the feeling and ache of a loss was there nonetheless), but he couldn’t help but bask in the glowing feeling somewhere fuzzy and inexact within his chest. 

Subsequently, Roman carried the conversation for the remainder of the lunch period, and while Logan interjected intermittently with corrections and quips, his focus dwelled within his own skull—busily running through the pros and cons, and pulling evidence from as many interactions with Roman as he could remember. Logan had never been good with emotions—but he could certainly work with the numbers and cold, hard facts. 

The bell rang, and as the two made their way to their respective classes, Logan established two things:

One—

Logan wanted to spend a lot of time with Roman. And see him smile, and happy in whatever way he felt best. He was his greatest self when they were together, and Logan didn’t know what he would do without his friend. The most obvious conclusion was—as much as he hated to admit it—in fact correct; likely by the plan of some trickster god, Logan held a deep affection for Roman, in some way or another.

And two—

Roman, in his own stupid, charming way, cared about Logan, too. How so, Logan wasn’t quite sure yet. But he had a feeling that he could find out;

What else were experiments for?

\---

_ three: starbucks _

_ From ‘Roman :)’, at 4:51pm: _

_ ‘where the hell are you, dumbass???’ _

Logan smiled fondly at the text, tucking his phone into his pocket after sending a message informing Roman of his arrival at the park. He and his dad politely made their way between the scattered teenagers and overenthusiastic parents, as Logan resigned himself, at least for now, to background chatter in everyone’s personal photos. He tried to match the disinterest on his peers faces, to blend in with their spoiled attitudes dressed up pretty in bows and lace—but Logan couldn’t keep the genuine joy from his smile. Sure, it was  _ just _ freshman homecoming, but it was so much more! It was his first  _ real  _ high school experience, and he gets to spend it with the people he loves most—what could be better than this? He spots the brightly colored family up ahead, and after checking with his dad over his shoulder, he makes his way as fast as he can (in dress shoes through a crowd, anyways) to his friend and his family. 

Roman’s eyes light up with recognition as Logan waves. 

“Finally!” he says, turning back to Patton, “Papa! Look who finally showed up!” 

Patton lowered the camera from in front of his face, where he had been capturing Remus in his natural habitat—seeing which leaves and plants in the park tasted good, which did not, and which ones matched his suit well enough to be worth shoving in his pockets—and beamed at Logan.

“Heya, Kiddo!” he called, flipping through the shots on his camera with a grin. Out of the corner of his eye, Logan could see his dad talking with Declan, and as cool as they may have thought they were, pride and joy shone for their kids. Logan felt giddy and warm, a soft flush sure to be set on his cheeks for the rest of the night. 

He got his introductions over with, both accepting and giving compliments on the choices of attire for the night—Logan couldn’t help but appreciate Remus’ understated neon green ensemble, completed with a tie decorated with realistic illustrations of human organs—however, Roman was the obvious standout in his white suit, accented with threads of gold and reds of every hue; Roman was a near-perfect complement to his own navy and silver attire, but Logan hardly allowed himself to think of such a thing when Roman’s excitement was so great at the whim of another boy.

“Look what Remy got me!” Roman gushed, thrusting his floriferous wrist in his friend’s face. Though the sharp smell and stems pricked at his eyes (he’d be able to argue otherwise under pressure), he forced a smile to his face. It was fine—he was fine. Roman could do what he wanted, with whomever he wanted, because he wasn’t Logan’s, and Logan wasn’t his. It would be  _ fine _ . 

“Lovely,” Logan breathed through grit teeth, ”Where is Mr. Sandman, anyways?”

“Front and center, sweetheart,” came a drawl from behind him. Remy sauntered towards their group, sunglasses and Starbucks for the pair in hand, slick from his white shirt to the flowers tucked into the chest pocket of his leather jacket. Roman beamed, giggling as he thanked Remy, and while Logan had admitted to feeling…  _ some _ sort of way towards his friend himself, he couldn’t ruin this. He would stick it out—for Roman.

(He did consider some sort of payback for the sheer amount of pet names the couple made him endure that night, but that was a thought for the more rational Logan of tomorrow.) 

\---

_ four: diner  _

Roman dunked a fry in ketchup, considering his words carefully as he watched Logan across from him with a fond expression. 

“So. College, am I right?”

Nailed it. 

“We are indeed both seeking higher education this fall semester, yes,” Logan looked up from his own plate to meet Roman’s eyes, “But that’s not really what you mean, correct?” Roman grinned sheepishly, a book whose every line is devoured by Logan with trust and certainty. And for someone who took pride is his essays and prose, Roman couldn’t quite find his words. 

“The adventure? The newness?” Logan suggested, attempting to find his companion’s thoughts for him, but Roman shook his head. 

“The debt?” 

Roman chuckled. “Funny, specs—but no.”

Logan pondered for a moment. 

“Distance?” he ventured. He mustered the confidence to continue after a moment. 

“Us?”

Something in his inflection struck a chord within Roman. Roman bit his lip, and despite his unresponsiveness, Logan knew he’d gotten closer than he had before—even so, he put up a front, and tugged a false smile to his face. 

“Hey,” Logan nudged Roman’s leg under the checkered table, “We’ll still be close. Maybe not physically, but our friendships withstood worse than a two-hour drive before—”

“I think we both know that’s not what I mean.” Roman’s eyes remained downcast, and he folded in on himself—defensive. Logan’s heart ached, and he wanted nothing more than to eat his words; he may not have known exactly what he said to upset Roman—he often didn’t—but it was a feeling worse than death (at least, in his humble opinion). His resolve cracked, only slightly, but it was just enough to push him to inquire further.

“What  _ do _ you mean, Roman?” Logan nearly twitched, body chill with anxiety and adrenaline and anticipation. As much as he didn’t want to let himself, Logan  _ felt _ , and he felt so,  _ so  _ much. It was all he could do to withhold the years of pent-up confessions and yearning enough to at the very least let Roman speak first.

“You’re my friend, Logan. I wouldn’t give that up for anything, and I don’t want— _ can’t _ lose you. And I know that if everything stays the same, I won’t, but I don’t know how, or even if I  _ want _ to keep pretending that  _ this— _ ” He gestures to the two of them, sat in the diner as friends, “—is all we are! I know I’ve messed it up in the past—” Logan flinches thinking of their wreck of a freshman homecoming, but Roman presses on, stubborn, brave, and as charming as always, “—but I can’t help but want to do better, because  _ you _ make me want to  _ be _ better; for myself, and to continue on honestly, for you, too, Logan.”

It was at that point that Roman chuckled, rubbing at his eyes with his palms, insecurity and fear taking over the bolstered pride that had gotten him this far—at his pause, possibly through some transfer of confidence, Logan found the strength, somewhere deep within himself, to speak.

“If we’re being honest, I think I’ve liked you since fifth grade, Roman.” Logan had never felt himself one for purple prose, and found that his to-the-point attitude comforted Roman when his false grandeur couldn’t—however, Roman seemed to remain unconvinced. 

Logan leaned in conspiratorially, heart racing:

“Like,  _ like like _ , Princey.”

Roman barked out a laugh, filling the quietly bustling diner with his joy, and quickly devolved into giggles. Logan soon found himself resigned to the same fate—the two became a mess of limbs over their plates, muffling their laughter, but not their feelings—not any longer. With them, they would be loud.

And so the world looked on at the newly annointed adults, unsure of everything but each other, and watched on as they fell just a little more in love.

\---

_ plus one: home-cooked spaghetti _

Logan sat in the crook of the sofa, lazily attempting a crossword on his phone. He glanced over at the steaming pot on the stove, and at a frantic Roman scrolling desperately through his phone for some help from his sous chef, Google—despite Logan’s multiple offers of assistance, Roman had  _ insisted _ on making dinner all by himself. It was fine by Logan—he’d do the dishes later, and it allowed him more time to get a handle on the slightly queasy feeling in his stomach, no doubt caused by the small box in his pocket. It wasn’t much, and was likely understated for a man as extravagant as Roman—but it was  _ theirs _ , and Logan couldn’t help but know that was enough. He smiled to himself, at the framed pictures on their walls, at their paintings (Logan never felt exactly in his element making them, but he found his way along, as long as Roman was there), at the life that they had made and the man that he loved.

This wasn’t the next step—they weren’t following in anyone’s footsteps, instead choosing to forge their own path, and define themselves on their own.

Logan stood, strolled into the kitchen, and laid his phone down before leaning on the counter next to the stove. Roman’s brow was furrowed as he stirred the pot haphazardly, simultaneously scanning his phone, presumably for a missed ingredient or skipped step. Logan thought about just helping despite the possible objection, but right as he began to move to look over Roman’s shoulder, Roman spun, holding the phone to his chest. His eyes darted to the living room, as Logan considered his suspect behavior. Roman’s swallowed, and waved a hand back towards the living room.

“Put on some music, love? The remote should be on the mantle.” Roman made no mention of the odd interaction, instead focused again on dinner. Logan made note as he walked to bring it up later, when he himself felt less peculiar, and hopefully after the evening plans went well. He pushed aside a frame to reach the remote—only to find not only the turner, but a small nesting doll, seemingly hand-painted. He picked it up, examining the style—most obviously Roman’s.

“Hey Hon?” Logan called, turning to show Roman, “What’s this?” He looked up, expecting to see his boyfriend still busy in the kitchen—instead, he was already stood a few feet away, wiping his hands on his jeans, subtly attempting to downplay his excitement. 

“A gift, Specs,” Roman chuckled nervously, “Can’t I get the love of my life a gift from time to time?” Logan raised an eyebrow at the avoidant reply, only to get a shrug in reply. Logan looked closer at the art—despite being relatively human in shape, the doll was painted with an impressionistic recreation of— 

“The diner?” Logan asked, turning the piece over in his hands. In the illustration, he and Roman were sat next to each other in a booth, grinning ear to ear. Roman nodded, and took Logan by the hand to the couch.

“Open it,” he said, patting the cushion next to him. Logan sat, and twisted the two halves apart. This layer was a portrait of the two of them grinning—by the patterns of their suits, Logan placed it as their senior prom. 

“At least it isn’t homecoming.” Logan brushed a thumb across their smiling faces. Roman groaned, leaning his head on his lover’s shoulder.

“At least  _ try _ to let me forget, teach.” 

“Never,” Logan mumbled, dropping a kiss to Roman’s crown. The ring grew ever heavier in his pocket, and it took everything Logan had to keep from proposing that very moment.

He kept on, twisting the doll again to reveal a small study of them at some restaurant, after their middle school promotion. His glasses sat too big on his face, and Roman was a gangly mess of limbs and freckles, but nevertheless his heart swelled at what they were, and what they’d subsequently become. Tears pricked at his eyes, and Logan breathed softly. 

“Roman, this is wonderful,” he choked, cradling their adolescent selves surrounded by family in his palms. 

“Here,” Roman said, taking the doll from his hands, “Let me.” 

Logan wiped at his tears, laughing, when Roman twisted open what was seemingly the last layer. 

Inside sat a depiction of a classroom, vague and stylized in all but the two pies sitting on the front table—oreo and apple, side by side, glinting under the fluorescents. Logan only cried harder, reaching for the doll—only to have Roman bring it closer to his chest. Logan sat back a moment, stalled and confused. 

“Logan,” Roman started, unsure but determined nonetheless.

“Light of my life—” he continued, voice cracking on the final syllable. He laughed, wiping his own tears away with the back of his hand. Logan couldn’t help but cry harder at the lovely, human  _ mess _ they were.

“Oh, fuck it,” Roman said, flipping back the lid of the doll to reveal a ring. “Logan Berry, will you marry me?”

Logan made a garbled noise as he nodded, unable to form a coherent thought as he struggled to pull the box out of his pocket past his own tears. Roman remained kneeling, confused, until his eyes lit up with recognition as Logan finally succeeded in retrieving his own ring. And with this, the two of them fell into each other, a mess of tears and laughter and so,  _ so  _ many  _ yes _ es. 

(And as heartwarming as the moment was, to everyone but them, it would be overshadowed by the impending fire alarm as Roman had managed to, despite following a recipe, set fire to boiling water.)


End file.
